


Practical Information Retrieval

by Nevanna



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Recovered Memories, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23552482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: After an unnerving encounter at a party full of vampires, Martin confronts his buried memories.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 20
Kudos: 99
Collections: The_Magnusquerade





	Practical Information Retrieval

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows from my own [Outreach and Application of Institute Resources](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386996) and NevillesGran's [Human Resources Allocation in Donor Management](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20242180), in that order, but I hope that I've constructed a story that holds together on its own.

Martin hadn’t exactly been looking forward to Annabelle Cane’s party, but in some ways, it was _less_ awkward than the holiday affairs with the Magnus Institute’s staff and donors. If he was going to spend the evening surrounded by literal bloodsucking monsters (and their blankly smiling human companions, whose gazes never quite met his), at least he knew how close the danger truly was. And he knew his own objective: to learn as much as he could about the other vampire clans, including their interest in preventing the destruction of the world.

He tried not to let their polite condescension discourage him, and remembered to lower his head respectfully when Simon Fairchild floated by, lifting his glass and stretching his wrinkled, leathery face in a grin. Martin had plenty of practice in acting like he fit in. 

When Peter Lukas introduced himself and said, “How delightful to see you again,” Martin assumed at first that they’d exchanged some forgettable pleasantries at one of those holiday gatherings. That didn’t explain the momentary flash of that bearded face grinning _down_ at him, tongue darting out to lick a speck of blood from his upper lip…

Martin had to force away the image more than once as he tried to steer their conversation toward the Strangers and their plans. He doubted that the Lonely clan cared enough about the world to want to save it, but he and Jon had agreed to pursue every possible alliance.

“Sounds like it’s been a busy year for you!” Lukas said heartily. “I always hoped that we’d get a chance for a proper chat, even after Elias handed you off to your new master.” He leaned forward and took Martin’s face in his strong, blunt fingers, and the predatory intent behind his cheerful tone was as unmistakable and unsettling as the glint of his fangs. “I don’t suppose I could have another taste?” 

Martin wanted to wriggle away, to protest aloud or in his head, to tilt back his chin and _serve his purpose…_ and then Jon swooped in between them, all sharpened fangs and flashing eyes and a possessive psychic aura that swept Martin into its grasp. He was all too willing to follow Jon out of the room and lose himself in the sweet exchange of blood and kisses, forgetting about the threat of the Unknowing and everything that Peter had implied.

And yet Peter’s words resurfaced as they made their way back through the crowd, and followed Martin out of Hilltop House and back to his flat. They lingered as he and Jon prepared for sleep… or, in Jon’s case, to curl up against Martin as he slept. Still jittering with unanswered questions, Martin wasn’t even sure that much would be possible.

Jon must have picked up on enough of that nervous energy to ask, “Is something still bothering you?” 

“Apart from the impending apocalyptic ritual?” Martin countered. 

“Apart from, or in addition to that. I won’t, ah, _look_ , unless you want me to.” Jon sat down beside him on the bed, not bothering to hide his own unease. “But if you’d like to talk about it…”

“Before you interrupted Lukas, he was acting like he already knew me.” Martin shuddered at the memory of that teasing voice.

As if he’d heard it too, Jon’s eyes sparked red in the dim glow from the bedside lamp. “He has no claim on you,” he said quietly.

“I know that.” Martin laced his fingers with Jon’s much cooler ones. “But if he _thought_ he did, that’s one more thing that I can’t remember.” He took a deep breath. “Could you… try to find out what happened?”

“Are you sure?” When he received a nod in response, Jon said, “I’ll do my best,” and took Martin’s face in his hands.

Martin closed his eyes and tried to ignore the nervous swoop of his stomach. They’d done this before, and even when the memories that they uncovered horrified or sickened him, Jon’s mind always remained wound together with his, warm and reassuring, ready to pull Martin back if he got lost. But there was still a moment, before the images and sensations floated to the surface, when he wondered if the next revelation would be the one to break them.

 _The heady taste of expensive liquor on his tongue. Tim snatching the eye-embossed flask from his hand and toasting him and Elias in turn as the limo carried them into the night. Elias grinning back at them and insisting that his friends would_ love _them. If they remained calm and obedient and didn’t ask questions, they’d have a_ splendid _time._

 _The alcohol, and those caressing promises, blurred the scenery around the edges. A stone house, grander than any building that Martin had seen before in his life. A soaring ballroom, filled with dazzlingly dressed… people? Some of them almost_ seemed _like people, but they moved almost more quickly and gracefully than any human should be able to, with too-sharp teeth and a too-hard edge to their party chatter. Martin felt a stab of anger-terror-confusion as one woman spoke casually of how many people she’d killed, but it was fine; all of that was normal, and he was happy to be here. He wanted to shout a warning to Tim as one of the creatures pulled his head down to sink gleaming fangs into his neck, but wasn’t that why the two of them were there–to please the other guests?_

_“Go ahead and give Simon what he wants.” Elias nudged Martin forward as another vampire, this one visibly ancient, floated toward them, and he was so, so lucky for the chance to…_

He shuddered violently back into the present, his eyes flying open. Jon’s face swam into focus inches from his own. “If you need to take some time,” he said tightly, “we can look more tomorrow, or…”

“I don’t… I’m…” _Not sure if I’ll ever be ready again, if I’m not ready now._ Martin shook his head. “I want to know more.” _Another taste_ , Lukas crooned in the back of his mind. “At least, I think I do.” 

He closed his eyes again, could feel Jon draw him close, pressing their foreheads together, and–

_“I’ll have you kneel, Martin. Right there.”_

_They were in a much smaller room, lit by the soft glow of a desk lamp, and he could feel the floor beneath his knees. Elias sat behind him, idly stroking his hair, as Peter Lukas grinned at them from across the room and talked of things that_ should _be frightening: monsters and worms and rituals and some sort of wager, which made Martin wonder if, improbably,_ he _was supposed to be the prize. Another caress from Elias reminded him not to worry. He was at his master’s feet where he belonged, and nothing bad would happen as long as he did what he was told._

_“...until my Archivist is sufficiently prepared…”_

_The mention of Jon pierced Martin’s blissful daze, and he_ had _to know how he could help. He only stopped asking questions when Elias’ disapproval plunged him into despair, cold and unforgiving and…_

_“Forsaken.” That was Peter’s word, and it was a perfect one._

_Martin trembled on the floor until Elias blessed him with another order, and he clambered to his feet. Tim might be getting plenty of attention from the rest of the party downstairs, but their master had chosen Martin for something special._

_He managed to get close enough for Peter to reach for him. The heat of the bite chased away the chill of those hands and lips, sent shockwaves of pleasure all the way down to Martin’s toes; the knowledge that he was obeying and providing and_ serving his purpose _felt even better. He swayed on his feet, but Peter’s muscular arms held him steady._

_After… he wasn’t sure how long... Elias snapped, “That’s enough. Let him go before you drain him dry.”_

_Martin let out another whimper when Peter stepped back, favoring them with a blood-smeared smirk. “I hope you know what you’ll be giving up,” he said, licking away a stray red droplet as Martin’s knees buckled._

_Elias held him upright. “Are you underestimating my ability to make use of what I have? You should know better than that, by now.”_

_The rest of the party had started to blur together–Martin wasn’t even sure that he could navigate the stairs on his own–but Elias was pleased with him again, and nothing else seemed to matter._

When Martin opened his eyes for the second time, fighting his way through the ghosts of terror and shameful ecstasy, it took a few moments for his surroundings to make sense. Jon’s face twitched with anger that gave way quickly to concern, as his Sight pulled back from exploring but stayed in gentle contact. “Are you alright? Martin, _answer me_.”

The command was undeniable. “I’m okay,” Martin said quickly. “I’m here, I’m…” The next word caught on a half-sob, so he thought it as hard as he could: _Yours_.

 _Yes, mine,_ pressed like a kiss against his spinning thoughts, settling them, and Jon looked like he would have sighed in relief if he still had any need to breathe. “I shouldn’t be surprised that Elias thought he could…”

“Get away with that?” Martin finished shakily. “He _knew_ he could. Just like the vampires who brought their thralls to Annabelle’s party. They– _we’re_ supposed to be _things_ , not people.” Those thralls had probably thought they were having a _splendid_ time, too. “Just there to amuse them.”

“My tolerance for their _amusement_ has its limits.” A hint of a growl found its way into Jon’s voice.

“You’re not going to storm into work on Monday and yell at him, are you? Or dash out to Peter’s castle and…” He remembered how much power Jon had radiated when he’d descended upon them earlier that evening, and wondered how much more damage he _could_ do if he chose. If he truly believed that Martin was worth it. “Make his head explode, or something?”

“I won’t deny the temptation,” Jon admitted, his anger receding slightly. “But I know that there would probably be consequences, and… do you imagine that it would help?”

“Ask me again tomorrow,” Martin suggested. 

“I _would_ like to know if Lukas has any other reason to be interested in you, or in the Institute.” Jon’s fingers found Martin’s again. “But for now, you’re right: we could both use some rest.”

After they arranged themselves under the blanket, Jon’s head pillowed on his shoulder, Martin spoke again. “I think I remember the rest of that weekend. I woke up feeling like hell, and I called in sick for the next two or three days.”

“You and Tim both did.” Jon gave a humorless chuckle. “I’m sure that I ascribed it to some malicious conspiracy against me.”

“It’s not like you didn’t have reasons to be paranoid. Not that it was any excuse for you to follow us home and try to peek through our windows!” Martin added. He waited for the punch of guilt for criticizing his master, for having denied him access to any part of their lives. It didn’t come. “But we were _all_ being manipulated. I wonder if… Do you think Tim would want to remember what happened last year?” There was no way Tim would welcome the truth about how completely he’d been used, and by how many monsters, and how much he’d _enjoyed_ it. But would it be better to keep that from him?

“I think we should remind him that he has a choice,” Jon said after a pause. “Though I don’t imagine that he’ll see it as much of one.”

Martin nuzzled into his hair. “It’s still better than what we had before.” 

When sleep finally caught up with Martin, it brought dreams of too many hands grasping him, too many fangs tearing at his skin as a smile stretched his face wide; of glimpsing Tim and Melanie and (he was _almost_ sure) Sasha through a heavy fog, and wanting to scream at them to run from the monsters; of icy tears on his face when the words stuck in his throat. As he twisted awake, Jon kissed away the tears and covered his mind with _you’re safe, I’ve got you,_ until the grip of the past loosened, and Martin was convinced that tomorrow’s choices could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MxCarter and Playfully Evil for beta reading, and to everyone who showed interest in this idea as it developed. I've wanted to write it out for some time, but after the beginning of Season 5, a scenario in which Jon could help Martin with the terrible things in his subconscious became even more appealing.


End file.
